Hermione's Time Traveled Stranger
by Youaretheflametomycandle
Summary: Hermione receives a letter from a friendly stranger, requesting a audience. She obliges and meets a very handsome young man, only he's a little too old for her. 50 or so years older. But when time travel comes into the picture, romance sparks. When he asks for some help in return, will she help or will she leave her new-found love?


Hermione was pacing her dorm, completely alone. Her bushy hair was pulled back into a loose pony tail and she was wearing track pants and a singlet. It was nearing the end of her sixth, and possibly final year at Hogwarts. The school had just received a terrible shock, the death of their Headmaster. Albus Dumbledore's death still lingered over the school, only three nights had passed since the terrible incident. Hermione was feeling the stress of it all, her shoulders were stiff and her brow permanently creased these days.

It was late, past ten o'clock. It was a warmish night, the stars twinkling faintly behind the window. She sat on her bed next to the window and stared at out at the half moon smiling down on her. Then something flew past it. She craned her neck to get a better look but failed. The thing had flown out of few. Seconds later a large tap shook her from her thoughts. She opened the window and a large snowy owl gracefully drifted through it. It landed next to Hermione and looked up at her. It wasn't Hedwig, its eyes were too beady and its beak to sharp. But still it was pretty. She stroked it, wondering who it could be for. The other girls in her dorm had been taken home, their parents fearful of their stay at  
Hogwarts. She looked at the owl's leg and saw that it had two scrolls attached. She took them both. The first one was large and old looking, tied up with black, burnt ribbon. The second wasn't exactly a scroll but a piece of paper folded in fours. She opened that one first and saw a red wax stamp in the middle. Its imprint was of a crown. She put that one next to her and opened the first. Only then did the bird fly away.

It read:

_ Dearest Hermione. I do hope you receive this letter safely and that you are well._

_ I am here at Hogwarts, sitting in the library. I have heard of your fondness for the written word. I share that particular interest. I would like for you to join me. I have a vague understanding of your current troubles, the death of Professor Dumbledore has struck a heavy blow to the school's foundation. The looming threat of war, the loss of loved ones, all these things must be making you feel terribly stressed. I propose a stress-free night with yours truly right here at Hogwarts._

_At this point, I truly hope that you are looking forward to our meeting as much as I am. I do realise that this definitely sounds creepy and untrustworthy, but I assure you that I am being 100% honest with you. If you will do me the honour of responding positively, simply follow these few, easy steps._

_The paper next to you, with the crown stamp. Pick it up and hold it in your palm. Now stand up and position yourself a good step away from anything. Then touch the stamp, if you haven't already. As you do, close your eyes._

_I hope to see you soon._

_Yours truly, I assure you,_

_Tom Green - T.G. _

Hermione put the letter down on her bedside table. She looked at the red stamp next to her, she had not yet touched it. She picked it up and placed it on her palm. She stood up, without thinking, and stepped away from her bed. She gave one last look at her room and scrunched up her eyes. She stood there for a good minute, deciding whether or not to go. It could be a trap and she could die. But a stress-free night in a library sounded perfect right about now. And surely a paedophilic creep wouldn't have brilliant literature skills, such as to write a letter like that. With a sharp intake of breath, she slammed her other hand onto her occupied palm. She felt her stomach tighten and her head pound. For a second she thought that the stamp was cursed, but then the familiar feeling of Apparation surrounded her. Only this didn't take a couple of seconds. It lasted longer than ever before. As she grew short of breath, she collapsed onto a cushioned chair.

She regathered herself and looked around. The walls were lined with books and a hundred oak shelves, neatly lined up in rows, were overflowing with books, old and new, brightly coloured and with tentacles, muttering words and humming crudely. The library was abuzz with noise, yet it seemed perfectly quiet. She looked to the ceiling and several grand chandeliers hung, golden pixies chained to the tips, giving off beautiful light. She immediately began to demand their release but on a second look she saw that they were dancing and giggling among themselves.

"Interesting little things, aren't they?" came a very mature voice from beside her. "Regular pixies, blue pixies, only cause mischief and wouldn't stand being tied up like that, but Golden Pixies, or Pixarlia Gynotia, will happily provide light as long as it is allowed to dance, and it has company. I love these creatures, they fascinate me. Every day I learn something new about them. Only this morning, when I wrote your letter, did I learn that no less than three of the twelve pixies in a group will sing. You see, there are twelve pixies to a chandelier and, as you can see, I have two. You have undoubtedly figured that I always have at least six pixies singing to me.

"But where are my manners, I apologize for babbling on, I am Tom Green."


End file.
